


I don’t care where you’ve been, how many miles (I still love you)

by IdiotCrusader



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU - Post-Reconciliation, Christmas Fluff, Fireworks, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Platonic Relationships, Post-Recall, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdiotCrusader/pseuds/IdiotCrusader
Summary: Christmas comes to Watchpoint: Gibraltar, bringing an opportunity to reminisce and celebrate for the resident old soldiers.
Relationships: Ana Amari & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	I don’t care where you’ve been, how many miles (I still love you)

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Christmas fic 3 weeks late, sue me.
> 
> Warnings for a very brief scene of violence and uhhh... climatic inaccuracies. That's a thing now.  
> Background anahardt implied.

Christmas has always been Jack’s holiday.  
  
The details aren’t as clear on in Ana’s mind as they once were, the time passed knitting years and years together into a single mess of memory patches, but the fact itself is vivid as anything. Gabriel was an obsessively invested Halloween person, but the second the horror stories-filled, candy-sweet, orange and black end of October passed, the anticipation of Christmas took over. And Christmas was all Jack.  
  
Where Gabriel - at least back then, in their younger, happier days - was inventive and playful, Jack stayed traditional and taken to routines. Overnight, hand-sewn Halloween costumes and excessive decorations would disappear just to be gradually replaced over the next two months by a carefully placed, less vibrant yet no less festive setup. A string of lights there, a branch of mistletoe there… The mess hall never failed to surprise the personnel with a new recipe on the week heading towards Christmas - a personal request from the Strike Commander.   
  
Jack tried his best to keep the base looking decent and orderly, but his enthusiasm never failed to show through the subtlety. Sure, work came first and fun later, even prior to the promotion; war was a serious business after all, and they had no time nor opportunity for excessive celebrations. But anyone who knew Jack at least somewhat personally knew there was little he appreciated as much as Christmas. It gave an annual opportunity to take the team’s minds off their duties and struggles, to shake the routine up before it became tedious and hard to bear, but most importantly, it brought them closer together.  
  
Most of the staff in the headquarters got a leave during this time of the year, but the core of the strike team ended up staying year after year, for one reason or another. They treated it like an unfortunate circumstance for a few years. Today, Ana genuinely cannot recall who gave in first and admitted that staying on the base and celebrating together turned into a tradition; just that they all ended up agreeing, eventually. It was a good time. An unusually empty and quiet base had an odd feel to it. A little lonely yet strangely… homey, like their own small world blanketed by snow. Wasn't always there, but they got lucky to get a white Christmas a few times. Ana remembers her first: it wasn't the first time she's seen snow, of course, and yet she can still recall how amazed she was at the atmosphere it created for the upcoming holiday, at how good at matched and accented the Christmas spirit. A beautiful sight to treasure.  
  
Jack took care to keep the ones remaining on the base in good spirits, making them feel like a selected few rather than isolated and unlucky. Like a good officer he was. In all honesty, Ana still thinks he would’ve been better off leading a smaller, tightly-knit team. A Strike Commander position was hard on him; staying behind on the temporarily deserted base with a familiar, well-established circle of comrades, Jack seemed much happier.  
  
It was no secret that, having grown on the Indiana family farm, Jack treasured anything that made him feel nostalgic. For him, Christmas has always been family time, and back then, Ana and Gabe and everyone else on the old strike team _were_ family. Evident in every small yet thoughtful gift, in every silly dinner table speech Jack insisted on doing every year, every picture taken of the team and kept in the personal archive… they were so _close_.  
  
Ana loved it.  
  
She thinks back to these days, standing on the roof of one of the blocks of the Gibraltar base and watching the sea that spreads wide and far around the watchpoint. It’s magnificent as ever, looking dark and cold and _majestic_ as it slowly, lazily licks the rocks underneath. The snow that had been starting and ceasing just to restart again all night - to the point where enough has collected to cover the rooftops - is crispy and pristine underneath Ana’s combat boots. She takes a deep breath and exhales the white vapour. The sky above Gibraltar is already dark despite time barely having passed the three in the afternoon; it’s the first Christmas they get to celebrate in years, and, as if God has personally decided to remind them of the past, it’s _white_.  
  
Well, the joke's on God. Ana takes it as a blessing.   
  
This is the first white Christmas at Gibraltar, but, according to their resident scientists, not the last. The climate is changing; the whole world is, and at some point they would have to deal with it to avoid falling behind - it’s not a mistake they can afford repeating. At some point… just not today. Today, Ana gets to watch the snowfall and, for the first time in years so long, let her mind be idle. The frost barely bothers her at all. She feels melancholic, letting the memories flow freely like a river as she admires the snow and cooling waters - in a good, bittersweet way.  
  
This is the first Christmas they’re having after things went south - after Amelie, after Venice and after Zurich. After everything they’ve gone through. They’d stopped doing celebrations when the times grew rough, back when the Overwatch initiative started losing traction, joking around with each other they’d throw a huge party when the tougher days are done. Then, the jokes stopped too. By the time they couldn’t even talk to each other anymore, there was little hope they’d make it through at all, let alone build back enough trust to ever feel like sharing a celebration ever again.  
  
Yet, here they are. Here they are.  
  
Ana lets her gaze be drawn to the roof of the next block, where a few of the younger members of reformed Overwatch are busy setting up something that seems suspiciously like a - very modest for the scarcity of material yet ambitious in its design - snow fortress. Fareeha is among them; as if having felt that they’re being watched, she turns around and waves her hand at Ana from afar, and it makes something within Ana’s chest constrict with tight, brittle warmth and affection. Rebuilding the relationship that was not that resolute at the first place had not been easy, and they aren't even half-way to the end-point yet, but they got through the initial hostility and mistrust to build… something Ana doesn’t dare to call family just yet. And if she has anything to be proud of, it’s that.  
  
Lots of reunions happened after the recall. The most… unexpected, perhaps, was Gabriel. The day of his return is another thing An remember like it was yesterday, the picture clear in front of her inner eye. It’s marked by a strangely calm, amused thought: Jack had spent _so long_ obsessively chasing Reaper all across the globe, and in the end, their target just came to their doorstep.  
  
It wasn’t an easy conversation. Gabriel had a lot of explaining to do, and they all held a lot of old hurt and mistrust to be processed, but in the end, it worked out. Ana always had a certain suspicion, on the back of her mind… People like Gabriel go rogue, they go too fast, too far, but they don’t just switch sides for no _reason_. Jack thought that, too. They could never really talk about it, before, but Ana knew from the start they weren’t following the Reaper to kill him. After everything, Jack kept hoping for… something. A hint it was all a part of a bigger plan. A proof _his_ Gabriel was still there underneath the masquerade and insanity, brainwashed or too damaged to stop but present enough to salvage. 

Ana never asked Jack what he would do if there was nothing to save, no one to question.  
  
Doesn't matter now. For once in their lives, the worst-case scenario turned out to be _wrong_.  
  
It’s a long story, one Ana tries to keep off her mind for the most part. What matters is that Gabriel was willing to come back, and his reasons were good enough to let him in. It has by no means been easy - but for them, nothing really is. So what?  
  
Despite everything, they’re here, they’ve made it through it all, and they’re throwing that goddamn party just to prove to themselves they’re alive. Ana’s not used to being happy these days, but right now, she guesses this is what it should feel like.  
  
A soft shuffle of snow announces that another person has walked up the stairs and is joining Ana at her favourite viewing spot. She doesn’t flinch; there’s been enough time to learn to feel safe here, at Gibraltar, and old soldiers don't take safety lightly.  
  
The new arrival keeps silent for a few moments, probably watching the waters, then says in Jack’s raspy voice:  
  
“It’s nice out there. Calm.” He stops next to Ana, quietly observing the snow getting blown off the roof by the wind and swirl above the ground. “Haven’t seen that in a while. Makes you think of starting anew.”  
  
“Yes," Ana agrees, comfortably. “It does.”  
  
There’s a table getting prepared for everyone down in the mess hall; the base is full of people once more - not too few, not too many, just enough to revive that comfortable intimate feeling. The youngsters are busy doing the normal things that feel unfamiliar to Ana and Jack after being on the run for so long. It’s a perfect waste of a perfect day.

If only Jack wouldn’t insist on being such a stubborn old _bastard_.  
  
Ana’s been watching him all morning, quietly amused with herself - god, but she still knows him so well, can read him like a book even with his visor on. Right now, there’s no need to go to such lengths. Jack is roaming the base maskless and disarmed, looking almost domestic, if not for his growing agitation. His bare face is showing the most obvious mixture of tentative excitement and jittery alertness. Obvious to Ana and, perhaps, a few others from the old guard - Jack has always been exceptionally good at keeping a facade, but it does nothing against the people you’ve fought with side by side for years. 

Off the top of her head, Ana could guess a good half-dozen reasons why he doesn’t want the others to know about his current... predicament. Jack’s a little too reliant on the front of the invincible super-soldier he puts up, to the point where it’s worrying, but they’re all too loaded with their own issues to judge. Perhaps it’s hard to admit, even to yourself. Perhaps he hates the thought of the younger members figuring out Soldier 76’s got something so _silly_ for a weakness.  
  
Ana and Jack simultaneously shift their attention back to the roof, where the party crowd has switched from building the fortress to unpacking brightly coloured boxes filled to the brim with hand-held rockets. The safe, party kind. Jack winces.  
  
Of course, he’s got a problem with _fireworks_.  
  
It’s not uncommon in itself. They’re military, and having a problem with explosions is the trademark PTSD sign. What Ana has always found curious about Jack is how he’s absolutely fine with the real-life, genuine explosions that can truly end you - even after Switzerland. Jack is as combat-fit as ever; it’s the safer, more controlled portions of their lives he struggles with. Ana suspects it’s the disparity between the feeling of tentative safety of the relative peace and the shock of the flashback. Jumping into the ice-cold water versus being thrown into it unexpectedly, that kind of thing.  
  
Ana understands, really. Doesn’t mean she can’t think he’s being stupid. Being an old soldier comes with a starter pack of issues and triggers; treading around them lightly does some good both for the said soldier and their surroundings. Jack knows better than carrying around a loaded gun when he’s on the edge like that, and the only targets around to shoot at are friends and allies. But he clearly _doesn’t_ know well enough to sit this one out.  
  
Right now, Jack’s a perfect illustration for hypervigilance: so alert he has to consciously forbid himself from reacting to the smallest noises as he would to a threat, a tiny bit too pale and breathing a little too shallowly, just barely suppressing the shakes of adrenaline rushes. Ana’s tempted to drag him to the nearest mirror, demanding he takes a good look. Or, perhaps, Angela’s younger medics would enjoy a practical demonstration.  
  
Instead, Ana merely sighs, exasperated and fond.  
  
“It wouldn’t hurt you to be reasonable for once.”  
  
Jack doesn’t waste her time trying to unconvincingly protest he doesn’t know what she means. Instead, he gives her a quick, crooked smile. Just as unconvincing, but it looks more natural. More truthful. He’s not doing entirely fine, but Ana knows he’s still glad to see her.  
  
She’s not willing to confront him, not really. Just to see if she can talk some sense into an old friend, and to look after him to negate the consequences when the first option fails. Ana’s a sniper after all. Watching over her team, through the scope or otherwise, is all familiar drill.  
  
Jack’s not a sniper, but he’s been taking to the same habits.  
  
“You don’t have to watch over them every second. You know that, right?” Ana asks softly.  
  
Jack just gets _a little_ overzealous at times. He doesn’t have to be out there, waiting for the younger members to set up the fireworks he doesn’t want to see go off with the intensity of a babysitter keeping track of his charges. They aren’t truly children; these so-called kids are perfectly capable of handling themselves in battle, let alone at a Christmas party. It’s not them who needs to be supervised - rather, Jack's the one who needs to make sure everything and everyone is alright to ease his consciousness. Ana just wishes his coping methods didn’t have the potential to set him back even further. 

“I know. I just…” Jack shrugs; clears his throat. “I want to.”  
  
Who would’ve doubted? Occasionally, Ana wonders whether Jack realises how much time and effort he dedicates to keeping together a team that isn’t even really his to lead. His relationship with the new members had been… complicated at first, but there's no doubt he treasures it. A shame Jack never got to be a parent, Ana muses sometimes; he would've made a pretty good one.  
  
Speaking of watching over, there’s someone who doesn’t like leaving Jack’s side (or another way around, Ana can never quite decide). There’s a notable lack of a certain wraith nearby.  
  
“Where’s Gabriel?”   
  
“Downstairs.” Jack quickly glances in the general direction of the main blocks serving as the personnel accommodation; on the lowest level of one of these, Ana has set up a small room just for them. “Said he hates the cold, wanted to stay in. Reminds him of that Russia mission.”  
  
Ana nods. She would rather they join Gabriel in the quiet privacy of the room downstairs, but if Jack isn’t ready to return just yet, that's fine too.  
  
“Walk with me,” she offers, knowing beforehand Jack would accept.  
  
If they can’t go someplace quiet and secluded, Ana can at least get Jack to leave the roof.  
  
Jack’s got a habit of doing rounds on the base, making sure everything’s in order; there’s no real need to keep guard, not like that, but there’s yet to be a hero that could talk Jack out of doing whatever he thinks is right. Ana joins him occasionally - not because she thinks a perimeter might be breached and a security detail of two unarmed defenders on foot would serve as better protection than the all-seeing Athena, but simply because Jack appreciates her company.  
  
And she really enjoys his.  
  
They walk down the stairs and across the inner yard, marking the fresh snow with two chains of footsteps, and then enter the building through one of the technical gates.  
  
A year ago, Gibraltar could barely function as an operations base; now, the living capacity is at a stretch, every single space is used in some way or another, and there’s an unmistakable lived-in feeling to every room. Angela runs a small but orderly medical bay, the former Blackwatch boys got the old training simulator working, and there’s always somebody roaming the corridors.  
  
Except for today. Everyone is busy with the preparations for the dinner or the fireworks display on the roof, it seems; the corridors are dark and quiet. It makes the rounds quicker. Jack and Ana pass a block or two in silence, straightening the few things out of order - turning off the lamp there, locking the door here. It’s a comfortable silence. Ana still breaks it - the rounds are the best time to get Jack talking when they’re alone.  
  
“How’s the treatment going?”  
  
She could just ask Angela. She could ask Gabriel himself, and she does so regularly, but listening to the same answers all over again is a small price to pay for letting Jack speak his mind. He worries a lot, and there’s not a lot of people he trusts enough to admit it.  
  
“It’s alright.” Jack contemplates something and then adds - quietly, like sharing a secret: “Angela’s been working with some of the Talon data that Baptiste lad got us. She’ll be trying a new pain control strategy after the New Year… according to her, looks promising.”  
  
Solemnly, Ana nods. She understands why Jack is so tentative to share the news - they’re good news after all, and none of them is spoiled by having too many of these. The possibility of things going their way for once seems dubious; it’s silly, perhaps, but the chances appear so fragile, it feels as if they would disappear altogether once you tell someone.  
  
Pain management had been a big issue. Turns out constant regeneration doesn’t mix and match with the pain meds too well, and ever since their reconciliation every bad day Gabriel had to suffer through took its toll on Jack, too. For now, they’re keeping Gabriel on the strongest option they had access to, and if the new method does work better, it would be well worth a celebration. Ana sincerely hopes, for both of her dearest friends, that it works.

Meanwhile, Jack gives the empty corridor a quick look around, as if making sure they truly are alone. He wants to say something important, Ana can tell. She doesn’t slow down her steps and avoids looking at him, as to not throw him off the thread of thought.  
  
At last, Jack starts talking.  
  
“You know, since it’s Christmas and everything, and we’re having that party we wanted, I was meaning to tell you… I didn’t get you a proper gift,” Ana huffs, pulling her best ‘didn’t expect much from you’ face, and Jack chuckles too, stressing under his breath - ‘yet’, before his expression sets on serious and decisive again: “but I just wanted you to know that…”

He trails off, getting his thoughts in order. With a curt headshake, Ana touches his shoulder, squeezing gently to get him to keep whatever he wants to say to himself.  
  
“Save the confession for Gabriel, Jack. We both know it would suit him better.” Make no mistake, Ana knows Jack loves her. Closer than one would love a friend, more dear than a sister in arms, and the feeling is mutual - it’s just not how one would feel towards a _lover_. If Jack has to gather his courage to say something like that aloud, Gabriel should be the one to hear it. “You’ve never told him after the recall, have you?”  
  
Putting it off is so easy. There’s never the right time, the right words are never quite on your tongue, something or someone keeps getting in the way… You’ll be pushing and pulling and running away until it’s too late unless you work up the courage - just once is enough if you do it right. Ana would know. It took her _decades_ to say it back to Reinhardt.  
  
Before Jack can answer, they enter the community hall. Ana fully expects it to be empty since the usual occupants are busy playing with the snow upstairs, but Jack tenses ever so slightly, anticipating someone’s presence. The supersoldier senses are sharply tuned, even with all the damage his eyes had taken. At times Ana ponders whether she should’ve enrolled into the program, too. An opportunity could have been found… The serum certainly had its uses. There are no regrets, however - what’s done is done, plus Ana would've never gotten to have Fareeha had she enrolled back then, and she could _never_ regret Fareeha.  
  
The source of disturbance comes into sight quickly. Two junkers, Roadhog and Junkrat, their relatively new acquisition in the allies department, are sharing the table in the corner. These two aren't exactly hero material, but Overwatch had lost its hero appeal long ago, and frankly, Ana can only think good riddance. The newbies, all of them, are quite the mix; a rowdy bunch with goals and beliefs all over the place, but that’s what makes them so much _better_ at doing what the original Overwatch couldn’t.  
  
No camera lights, no public to please, and no one to report to except for their own consciousness. Crazy ideas go far, and the recall is certainly and undeniably insane.  
  
Ana laments her heart-to-heart with Jack being interrupted, but that’s quite fine - there’d always be another time to talk to him, and in the end, the only person he has to answer to is himself. Ana just feels obliged to give him a well-meaning nudge in the right direction. So she lets go of the unfinished discussion and instead directs her attention at whatever the junkers are doing here, in the gloom of an empty hall, looking (at least Junkrat - Roadhog doesn’t look like _anything_ , hiding behind his mask just the way Jack does with the visor) straight-up _mischievous_.  
  
A few months ago, Ana would’ve said ‘suspicious’. Things change.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Jack demands; to him, their presence here is the same level of disorder as a lamp somebody left turned on - not particularly dangerous or prohibited, still worth straightening out.  
  
Junkrat pulls a tray full of unidentifiable tools and substances towards himself, shielding it from view. His expression is still playful rather than threatening; despite the… notoriously unstable nature of his character, Ana isn’t worried.  
  
“Making fireworks,” the junker declares proudly. He holds something that looks very much like one of his bombs up for the show, like a cat presenting her firstborn. “ _More_ fireworks.”  
  
Jack doesn’t look impressed.  
  
“Should be messing with that stuff outside,” he grumbles - with no real heat to it, since there isn’t any rule specifically saying Junkrat is in the wrong here; it’s just everyone knows his… history with explosives, and Ana fully agrees everyone would feel more secure if this little do-it-yourself was taken outside. “Can’t have that nonsense blowing up in someone’s face.”

“Ain’t blowing up until I say so!” the junker fakes grave offence, pressing his free hand to the general area where his heart is supposed to be. “It’s a perfectly safe lil’ pocket bomb, thank you kindly!”  
  
Jack huffs, quickly getting frustrated. His authority on Gibraltar is… a complicated thing. Most of the members accept his experience in the field, whether they’re aware who Soldier 76 truly is or not, but his ideas of subordination and discipline just aren’t for everyone. What used to be an unbreakable rule back in Zurich is merely friendly advice here, and anyone is free not to follow. Ana knows it bugs Jack, but he tries to handle it with dignity. Old dogs struggle with new tricks, and living among the people of all sorts of background, some of them not at all military, is certainly new.  
  
It’s fine. They manage. Jack has learnt to be mindful of his current position, and the others show the old guard some respect or, at the very least, understanding.  
  
“Show me that,” Jack repeats, a little more insisting this time. “ _I_ get to say if it’s safe to play with here.”  
  
Junkrat in particular just isn’t feeling very compliant, now or ever.  
  
Ana almost intervenes, because there’s really no need to pick a fight, she could bet whatever Junkrat is making really is just a firework - perhaps not entirely innocuous but at least he knows how to handle it. She can tell Roadhog, who’s watching the scene with apparent disinterest, is, in fact, getting ready to act any second, too. Neither of them gets the chance to get involved. In the blink of an eye, Junkrat gets up, approaching Jack in two long strides - the junker’s so tall he comically towers over Jack who isn’t so short himself - and shouts with a burst of laughter:  
  
“Here you go, chief. Catch!”  
  
There’s a _lit fuse_ hissing on the tiny charge he launches.  
  
No one has time to intervene.  
  
The explosion goes off while the charge is still up in the air; Ana flinches, looking away, but there’s no shockwave and no heat - it really was just a firework, or a _firecracker_ , rather. A small, harmless one at that. Not dangerous, just unpleasant when it goes off in your face. Just a stupid, _stupid_ unfortunate joke. Her eyes fix on Jack who just stands there in a firm protective stance, covering his eyes with his forearm. The second the bomb is gone in the small cloud of hissing smoke he does the first thing his body would instinctively push him into doing in the face of a perceived threat - lurches forward and decks Junkrat in the face.  
  
Well, _that_ just happened, Ana thinks with the fully accepted resignation of somebody who’s seen way too much nonsense in their lifetime. Oh well.  
  
It’s a clean, immediate knockout. The junker lets out a gasp and falls backwards, eyes rolled back into his head. His nose is bleeding. He’ll probably be fine, Ana notes on the back of her mind, it's simply impossible not to recover from a simple concussion on the base where Angela Ziegler is stationed.  
  
Roadhog’s chair lets out a loud screech as it’s pushed away, and the enormous man rises from his place at the table.  
  
This time, the sense of danger is much more acute. Ana feels her whole body go taut like a spring ready to release; it’s not that she doesn’t _trust_ their new recruits, odd as they are… she just knows too well what the reflexes of a fighter can do. If someone hurt Fareeha on her watch, she would strike too, no thinking involved. And the junkers seemed… close. Closer than the bodyguarding contract presumes.  
  
Roadhog looks down, then up again, taking in the entire scene - Junkrat out cold on the floor, Jack frozen, still heaving and clenching his fists, caught in a memory loop. He’s vulnerable like this; good as blind, quick to attack his imaginary demons but useless against a real threat. Ana takes a short, determined step to get between him and Roadhog.  
  
A second passes. Another. Then, Roadhog grunts:  
  
“He got what he had coming. Fair game.” With that, he leans forward to scoop his partner into his arms, seemingly having no interest in reciprocating.

Intensely grateful, Ana releases a breath she’s been holding and turns back to Jack.  
  
Fair game. Yeah. Ana feels somewhat sorry for the junker brat, knowing Jack didn’t - couldn’t - pull the punch, but he did know better. Jack isn’t the kind of person to hurt a member of his team on purpose, but his issues drive his relationship with the younger members to something that can only be described as _tough love_. If a lesson of 'never ever try to prank someone who can maim you before it even registers you were trying to make a joke' must be taught through experience, it’s better learnt with Jack than with _Gabriel_.  
  
God forbid someone ever thinks of pranking the infamous Reaper. Being on Gibraltar in a well-meaning (at least mostly and lately) company, away from Talon and human experiments and the need to play a terrorist, has done Gabriel some good, but he’s still in a somewhat… delicate place mentally.  
  
Jack stirs; he’s starting to come back to - Ana knows the signs and steps so well she could name them with eyes closed. His expression turns blank, then confused; the next stage would be feeling mad or sorry or both, and Ana doesn’t want to see him like that.  
  
“Let’s go,” Ana urges him in a soft, steady voice. “We need to leave now. With me.”  
  
Jack hesitates, unsure of whether he’s meant to fight anyone and if the danger is gone and what’s _happening_. Ana repeats, adding commanding notes she knows he’d listen to:  
  
“With me, Jack. Come _on_.”  
  
She places a hand on his shoulder, feeling him shiver under the touch, and ushers him away. This time, Jack allows to move himself off the spot, confused and still alarmed but trusting her to decide what to do. There’s no need to apologize. Something in the way Roadhog holds himself tells Ana he’s well familiar with flashbacks and what they make you do, and Junkrat probably wouldn’t care to be offended anyway. If anything, Ana expects him to be entertained. They had an incident, it passed, and there’s no need to feed into Jack’s perpetual cycle of guilt problems.  
  
Instead, there’s just the place they could rest at.  
  
“You know,” Ana tells Jack, not bothering to check whether he can hear her yet; it doesn’t matter - they've long established empirically her voice grounds him anyway. “You could have just went with me when I first mentioned it. Doing things the hard way as always, are we?”  
  
Frankly, if he wasn't, Ana would have been worried for him.  
  
They do, of course, end up in the room Ana had set up for them. For herself, technically, but she had never honestly intended to spend time here on her own. It’s nothing special: there are a few blankets draped over a cosy couch in front of an old - from before the holosceens became ubiquitous - TV, a bottle of whiskey (just one but it’s a decent one), a pack of sedatives from Angela’s cabined (shouldn’t mix them with alcohol but hey, it’s _Christmas_ after all)... Everything they might need plus the special treat this particular room in the Gibraltar base basement has to offer - decent soundproofing that doesn’t make you feel trapped. 

After all, Ana doesn’t like the fireworks all that much either.   
  
Ana pushes the door and glances inside. Gabriel is still there, which isn’t unusual at all, and Reinhardt is with him, which _is_ unexpected but unlike the firework in the face, it’s a pleasant sort of suddenness.  
  
They share a couch, occupying the opposite ends. A month or so ago Ana would’ve been worried to leave Gabriel alone with anyone but Jack or Angela; four months ago, she would’ve straight up forbidden her team to approach _Reaper_ unsupervised. Now, the atmosphere lacks tension altogether, let alone the sense of threat. Reinhardt forgave easily when given the right reasons; Gabriel’s were, clearly, right for him, because the old knight accepted his presence one of the first. The only reason they don't sit closer is that Gabriel still dislikes being touched.  
  
“Ana! I was wondering when you two would come.”  
  
Reinhardt’s booming voice fills the whole place. He’s wearing an open, welcoming expression, and Ana responds with a small affectionate smile. It feels… good, having someone be genuinely joyful at her presence. Still, she’s surprised Reinhardt is here - grateful he’s been keeping an eye on Gabriel, of course, but surprised nonetheless.  
  
Jack hesitates in the doorway on the border between the darkness seeping from the staircase and the warmly lit room. Ana gently urges him forward, good-naturedly chastising Reinhardt as they approach:  
  
“You didn’t have to stay here. We all know you’d love to be in the middle of the events upstairs.”  
  
Reinhardt shrugs it off, but his eyes are earnest and sincere as he replies:  
  
“I would rather spend this joyous time with my old friends.” Ana watches him for a few seconds before he adds: “I have promised Brigitte I would come up for dinner later. Perhaps you all could keep us company, too.”  
  
Ana shakes her head, mystified in the best of ways. How the heart of the old knight, someone who’s seen no less war and horrors than she had, holds this much gentle love to this day, will forever astound her. She’s given up on trying to understand him on the day Reinhardt accepted her return - no apologies asked for, no lingering bad blood between them. Ana’s just grateful for that, for _him_.  
  
She helps Jack get to the couch and sit next to Gabriel; a few tendrils of black smoke crawl to protectively cling to Jack’s clothes and wrap around his shoulders. Jack is still quiet, somewhat out of it, but his reaction is immediate - he shifts, pressing closer, and Gabriel doesn’t recoil, allowing him to settle.  
  
Correction: Gabriel dislikes being touched by anyone but Jack.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Nothing much.” Ana meets his eyes that glow from under the hood he still refuses to abandon. They stare at each other for a few moments before Gabriel looks away - not having given up but rather convinced by her confidence that her answer really means _it_ _doesn’t matter_ instead of _I don’t trust you to know_. “Fun got too explosive.”  
  
They got rather lucky: Jack's episode seems minor enough to recover quickly. He's already looking much more aware; Ana estimates he would be back to his usual self soon. Had she suspected it wouldn't be the case, she would've taken him straight to the Angela. They all get heavy flashbacks time from time - the type that can knock you out of commission for days and requires medical intervention. This just isn't one of them.   
  
Holding up the vial of sedatives and the whiskey bottle, Ana shows them to Jack. Hopefully, he’s regained enough awareness to answer a question or two - although if not, there’s no rush. They got plenty of time to waste, for the first time in forever.  
  
“Which one?”  
  
No mixing after all. They can obey the doctor’s orders, you see.   
  
This time, Jack reacts - his eyes squint, trying to focus, and eventually, he manages a lopsided smile, nodding towards the bottle:  
  
“Tired of the pills.”  
  
Ana nods back in understanding. She’s been using her own sleepdarts for too long, much more often than they were meant for, and they never stopped working - Ana has simply grown weary of the artificial peace they granted. The chemical calm leaves a bad aftertaste. Alcohol is… somehow easier to manage. Drinking on a Christmas night in a friendly company feels natural, less forced, and the dangers of alcohol are obvious enough to cut it off before anyone starts having too much too often. Unlike the pills, which take way too little to convince one old soldier they’re a _necessity_ and their overuse is _justified_.  
  
They can follow orders, just not _all_ orders. Angela wouldn't have approved of them treating the post-episode shakes with whiskey, but she isn't there to criticise, and sometimes it's nicer to go... unorthodox.   
  
Ana ends up pouring four shots. Shared by four, there's just enough in that bottle to help Jack settle and raise the mood, not enough to get drunk - they don’t need to deal with that tonight. Drinking alone is bad manners but this, among many other things, is what friends are for.  
  
Jack downs his shot in one quick, forceful gulp like one would a medicine and winces; he was never big on liquor. Giving the whiskey a hesitant whiff, Gabriel follows suit. When he first rejoined, his disintegrating body couldn’t handle a glass of milk, let alone something this strong, but he’s doing much better now. It’s been lots of uncertainty, worry and _pain_ , physical and raw, but he’s mostly stable these days, both in body and mind, and Ana knows better than anyone that every small victory the medics gain working on Gabriel’s recovery makes Jack a little less bitter and a little more glad to be alive, too.  
  
There’s a place for Ana on the couch between Jack and Reinhardt, just tight enough to fit comfortably. Reinhardt, tactful as ever, as comical it is for his size and poise, hesitates to put his arm around her, and Ana pushes closer on her own volition. On the other side, Jack fidgets to press to her and, Ana can tell without looking, Gabriel’s side at the same time tighter. His gear - just when will he stop wearing tactical gear at _home_? it’s about time they admitted Gibraltar _is_ home now - presses into Ana’s ribs. Reinhardt leans towards her a bit too heavily. Not the most comfortable position, yet there’s nowhere Ana would rather be.  
  
“Look at all the fun we’re having,” Gabriel grunts. “What is this, pyjama party at four in the afternoon?”  
  
Ana gives a lazy huff of laughter.  
  
“We’re _old_ , Gabriel. We’re allowed to be boring.”  
  
Sitting in silence is, of course, not the way to spend a holiday party, plus it makes you think too much, so they end up turning the TV on. There’s a short argument over who gets to pick the movie, not because they can’t agree but because it’s such a simple, normal thing it makes them feel _human_. Walking dead don’t waste their time listing the reasons why the spaghetti westerns suck to their rotting peers; living weapons don’t break into laughter remembering the musical they hated with a burning passion when they were younger.  
  
Their pick ends up falling onto the devastatingly old, hilariously bad romcoms. Ana enjoys those with a grain of salt and more than a grain of healthy irony. The additional amusement is provided by the fact Jack enjoys them too, except _unironically_. He can deny it for all its worth - although Ana doesn’t think he even bothers anymore.  
  
Can’t argue with the facts, can you?  
  
By the end of the first half of the movie, Jack is back to his usual collected self; by the final credits, he’s relaxed enough to drop that act, too. His eyes, short-sighted without his visor, glaze over again - this time, with healthy drowsiness.  
  
Good. He could use some rest.  
  
The lights are off. Ana says it’s to see the screen better - they’ve got exactly four fully functional eyes between the four of them, unless you count the rudiments that sometimes form on Gabriel’s face. In truth, the cosy darkness is serving to enhance the atmosphere of sleepy calm they seem to have fallen into. Somewhere under the cover of that darkness, Gabriel’s hood had gotten lost, thrown off onto the couch, and his face is illuminated by the TV. Long dark hair spill over his shoulders, and the flashing lights bring out the unnaturally ashen skin and the sharp - he’s lost a lot of mass since his prime days - features.  
  
Now that he’s been back with them for almost half a year, that face is as familiar and dear to Ana as Jack’s, Fareeha’s or Reinhardt’s. She knows the others see past the sores and the smoke and the shifting decolourised flesh, too; but most importantly, Gabriel knows they do. He still wears the mask around the base most of the time, but it’s getting easier to think of the possibility that one day, he wouldn’t feel the need to.  
  
Things are getting… better, as odd as it sounds.  
  
Blankets find their use, too; under one of the covers Gabriel and Jack share, Jack’s hand is slowly, almost subconsciously, stroking along Gabriel’s shoulders and back in slow circular motions. As far as Ana’s aware, they’re still tip-toeing around each other, never quite making the decisive move, but it’s the moments like these that have Ana convinced it’s only the matter of time. These two behave like lovers every second they forget they shouldn’t. They would come around eventually - Jack would, Ana thinks. 

It would most certainly be Jack.  
  
A bottle of whiskey and another few movies later their peace is interrupted. A deep, rumbling sound, coming from the direction of the roof, makes it through the soundproofing - dampened, having lost all of its explosive power, just clear enough to hear. They all do: simultaneously, four pair of eyes get lifted towards the ceiling. Another rumble rolls over the watchpoint. Nobody flinches. Here, in the warm safety of the room they share tonight, _nothing_ can hurt them. They know it on the instinctive level, which, for people like them, matters much more than the explicit understanding. 

The sound repeats once more, and a distant roar of blasting music follows them. 

Ana recognises the nature of the disturbance without much thinking. It can’t be anything else but the fireworks battery the youngsters have set up on the roof - going off one explosive display after another. 

It must be an impressive sight. Ana imagines the radiant light-built flowers blooming over the unforgiving, dark surface of the waves; the reflections of colourful dashes spilling over the waters like shards of a broken stained-glass window. It’s not too late to get up join the observers on the rooftop. 

Purring in content, Ana cuddles closer to Reinhardt. Enticing as it sounds, she’s happy where she is and has no desire to change anything in the next good few hours. 

“Must be nice,” Jack sighs, somewhat dreamily, next to her.

That earns him three simultaneous _oh really_ glances. Ana sincerely hopes Jack isn’t entertaining an idea to go watch the show from the front row. To think of it, a few shots of whiskey is barely enough to give a supersoldier a buzz, he isn’t that lightweight, surely? Voicing her thoughts, Reinhardt diplomatically notices: 

“Some things are nicer from a distance, my friend.” 

“Never said I wanted to go see it,” Jack huffs, taking no real offence. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You say that while not making any fucking sense, Morrison,” Gabriel retorts; the tendrils wrap around Jack’s wrist, grapple at his clothes, as if worried he might shoot up and walk away. 

“It’s just nice,” Jack repeats, stubbornly. “That they get to have this. The party and everything. We can’t, not like we imagined it, but it doesn’t… I _like_ what we have, alright? It’s just nice they get to enjoy this.”

Slowly, Ana nods in understanding. Jack might not be the best at talking about these things, but he gets the point across just fine. It really is nice, that the others, some of which they call their children, are still able to find pleasure in such innocent play. That the things that have lost all appeal to people like Jack and Ana and most of the old guard because of the bad memories they stir and experiences they remind of are still on-limits for the younger members. 

Ana hopes, with all of her heart, that it stays that way. War has taken enough from the old soldiers, and it better leave their younger successors alone. Perhaps it’s a silly thing to wish for, but if she gets a single wish for Christmas, Ana’s desire is for life to treat these soldier kids kinder.

What of themselves… Ana agrees to Jack: despite everything, she likes what they have, too.

“Should we put another movie on?” She offers as they listen to the distant explosions. 

They do. It’s carefully selected not to have explosions in it; no needles or anything hospital-related either - for Gabriel’s sake, and no one gets shot because Ana’s seen that enough times in real life. The music’s old enough for Reinhardt to like it, conservative in tastes as he is. It’s the most _boring_ , the most outrageously typical Christmas picture. 

So what? It’s still a good movie, and frankly, Ana never liked the pop-culture idea of action-adventure anyway. She pokes at Jack’s side when a stray scene of a love confession plays - doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious enough to get him to grumble ‘oh, shut it’, and Gabriel shoots them a weird look. Reinhardt lets out a huff of laughter, and then brings up the possibility of coming upstairs to join the others at dinner later. Ana has no doubt on her mind he will end up convincing them - even Gabriel, who rarely joins the others at the meal. Jack is, Ana’s pretty sure, asleep half-way through the convincing. The end credits play.  
  
This is not how their younger selves probably planned their grandiose comeback party; so what? Ana would give any party in the world for something that is so unmistakably _theirs_.

Outside of the security of the Watchpoint walls, pristine, sparkling snow is silently falling into the deep calm sea.


End file.
